How it is: Reunion marks a passage of time

CLASS REUNIONS can be depressing. We went to our 67th gathering of Modesto High School grads (MHS '46, go Panthers!).

My husband had reserved a room in a cheap motel, and the online reviews said it was hard to find. He Googled directions (but did not print the map) before we left. The place is visible from the freeway, but access is dystopian. Overcrossings have been built, which were not on our 20-year-old map. The navigator (me) was also in dystopia because I read an arrow on a street sign as meaning one way, which sometimes it does. In this case it simply meant the direction of increasing numbers.

When we finally got to El Cheapo, it was almost time for us to be at the reunion. Being too early to check into the motel, we were allowed to use the staff bathroom (in a steamy utility closet), and the manager wrote directions to find our venue.

One of our class members hit the big time and allowed us to use his rare car museum — he calls it a Carseum — as a meeting place. It has marbled bathrooms plus a state-of-the-art kitchen with serving area. Round tables were set up between serving area and cars. My husband guessed there were about as many guests as cars.

After the buffet lunch, the microphone was passed to each grad for a quick life summary. When the batteries died after the first speaker, it was discovered there were no extras. Few of us had voices strong enough to make ourselves heard. A committee member hushed the kitchen help and turned off the noisy air conditioning, but it was pretty much a loss for everyone except those in the immediate vicinity of the speaker.

There was one story of cancer cured by prayer. Our most prolific member announced 33 grandchildren and still counting greats. The class stutterer is an accountant, with perfect speaking delivery. The class genius has succumbed to Alzheimer's. There were several stories of late-in-life marriages. All the financial success of our host could not extend to his health or that of his wife: both remained seated in wheelchairs. The funeral for one of our grads was proceeding that very day. We all signed a card for the new widow, whether or not we knew her.

My husband and I were both graduates of this class, so it was meaningful for both of us. For the non-MHS spouses who dutifully accompany the grads, it must have been immensely boring. Of 360 total grads, attendance was 35. Even though some of the attendees we never knew in high school, we are all buddies now — survivors. We'll try to attend two years hence, but we'll pay a bit more for a motel. Or maybe the host will let us stay in his Carseum.

Grace Terrell is a Novato resident. The IJ has been asking readers to share their stories of love, dating, parenting, marriage, friendship and other experiences for our How It Is column. All stories must not have been published in part or in its entirety previously. Send your stories of no more than 500 words to relating@marinij.com. Please write How It Is in the subject line. The IJ reserves the right to edit them for publication. Please include your full name, address and a daytime phone number.